Illuminaris
by Bedos Thane
Summary: The idea of Iron Man taken into a new continuity. Rated T for violence. Please review, as I need some criticism.


**Illuminaris**

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Iron Man. Any and all heroes or villains that may be mentioned are owned by Marvel and DC.

Chapter One

_New York City, 2004_

Billionaire industrialist Tony Stark stood on the twelfth floor of a luxury hotel owned by Stark Industries that lay in Manhattan. Tony looked out at the famous skyline, the scotch in his hand the third of the night. It helped little with his growing headache.

His butler Edwin Jarvis walked in, impeccable and precise as always. He saw the bottle that sat on the desk nearby his employer and sighed. "Will there ever be a time that you will no longer need the drink, sir?"

Tony smiled. "I'd like to think so, Jarvis. Just not tonight, okay? I have to go to one of the hottest places on Earth tomorrow to sell a greedy man a product that will probably kill thousands of lives. I'm just a little bit stressed."

"Of course, sir. Take all the time you need." Just to be safe, the butler took the bottle of scotch out of the room as he left. Tony sighed; realizing hard liquor was not the answer to his guilty conscience.

For years he had been selling missiles and advanced weaponry to the highest bidder, turning a blind eye to the lives that may have been lost from his ingenuity. Tonight was one of the nights that little good-doer voice of his berated him for being so oblivious. Tony had never considered himself evil, but a man of profit, only fulfilling the needs of supply and demand.

He left the office on the upper floor and rode the elevator down two floors, to room thirty-seven, the hotel suite. The good-doer voice interrupted his peace, making him feel guiltier by the second.

"Oh, shut up," he grumbled, turning off the lights and falling asleep.

_Afghanistan, 2004_

The demonstration would start in fifteen minutes, and Tony was warming up for the inspiring speech he would give before revealing his tool of destruction. He tried to appease his guilt by only thinking of the challenge that came with designing this particular weapon, in development for over three years.

Soldiers and various reporters milled about, waiting for the famous billionaire to begin. With a final thought of how much money went into development of his 'product', Stark stood behind a podium and waited for everyone to settle.

"Thanks to everyone for coming," he said, flashing a big white fake smile. "I'd hoped to try and catch your interest with this one." Scattered bits of laughter could be heard from the crowd. "Today I'll be showing you a special project my company has been working on for the last three years. It's called the Liberator, and I'm hoping it will be a big enough bang to get the military's attention."

"The Liberator is designed to be fired from over ten miles away, as the offset of the explosion is enough to rock some socks off. Seriously, we tested for three weeks to see if it would knock socks off." More restrained laughter from a terrible joke. "After reaching its destination, the Liberator will explode in the air, sending pieces of shock-activated explosives into enemy ranks. Once one of these designed pieces hits the ground with force, there's a shockwave that can knock out all electronics and communications within nine point four miles."

He showed them all a bright red button with his thumb on it. Crowds became more interested if a bright red button was involved, from Stark's experience. "Now for the big finale, as I'm sure you're all quite ready to see this baby fly. Am I right?" They all cheered.

Meanwhile, the two technical assistants that would be seeing over the missile's launch were lying dead in a closet, replaced by two Middle Eastern men who sported blood red herons on their shoulders. One stood by the door, gun in his hand, watching for any more guards, while the other had the headset on, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Is it ready?" The one with the gun asked.

"Yes. I'm waiting for the American fool to stop speaking."

"Be warned; he might be an American fool, but the commander wants to make sure he is alive. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the man at the computer said, his contempt for Stark apparent across his face.

Tony stood before the crowd, giving a few more encouraging words before launching his metallic canister of death. The red button was pushed, and the missile, standing about a mile to the left of the crowd, shot off into the sky with tremendous speed. The industrialist checked the console that was on the back of the launcher, making sure the readouts matched his specifications.

He gasped in horror. The part of the screen that said "Landing Point" did not read the predetermined 9.4 miles, but only 3.7. He looked up at the smiling crowd, all of them clapping at the successful launch. Returning to the podium, they all took notice of the grave expression on his face.

"Everybody, I'm gonna have to ask you to run. Some technical errors have occurred, and everyone is in extreme danger." A woman in the crowd screamed, and pointed at the missile. It was not sailing toward the horizon, as expected, but just speeding over the crowd's heads.

Mass panic broke loose, as the reporters and their camera men ran for the news vans, trying to drive their way out of there. The soldiers all exhibited the true discipline that came with being in the Armed Forces, trying to calm everyone and move out to find the source of the problem at once.

Tony watched the missile he had built, sailing over his head, rushing to give him an unexpected death. He knew that the vans wouldn't get very far, as the shockwave would turn off their cars instantly. 

Then the awful boom could be heard, the explosive shrapnel beginning to unleash its devastation. Stark blacked out, shocked at the horrific outcome of his ingenuity.

When he came to, he was tied up, the bumpy bed of the truck he was captured in giving his body an awful ache. A man sat in the back with him, the small gun at his face before Tony could look up.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," said the man, a heavy Middle Eastern accent apparent with his words. "I hope you'll find our accommodations to your pleasure." He beat him over the head with the black gun, Tony feeling a fierce burning pain in his chest before blacking out again.

The next time he woke his head was covered with a black cloth bag, being hauled out of the army vehicle like heavy cargo. He was forced to walk, despite the tearing, burning pain in his chest, every step making him weaker and weaker.

Stark eventually sat in a wooden chair, the bag removed to show him a man who looked extremely out of place. He was tall and pale, with dark hair and cold eyes. The man gave the slightest sneer of delight at seeing the billionaire.

"Well, well, how the mighty have fallen indeed." The man walked closer, nearly putting his nose in the captive's face. "Mr. Stark, I'm sure you've never met me, but I'm quite an avid fan and rival of your work. My name is Victor Von Doom."

_Gotham City, 2007_

Bruce Wayne sat before the huge computer screen in his secret cave, looking at the pained expression of the recording he had acquired of Iron Man's birth. He sat back and contemplated, wondering how this might work to his advantage.


End file.
